


The Great American Experience

by Ninjaninaiii



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: American Diner, Cooking, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjaninaiii/pseuds/Ninjaninaiii
Summary: Napoleon tries to teach his partners what it means to be an American.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written the day the film came out, and was swiftly forgotten about.

 

“Your eyes are larger than your stomach, Cowboy.”

“I’ll give you that, Peril. But I’ll tell you what they’re not larger than.” Napoleon held up the longest chip on his plate and smirked. The power of his smirk was, however, slightly tarnished by the ever-so-slightly queasy look on his face. His gaze dropped back down to his still rather-full plate and the smirk disappeared, the expression appearing on Illya’s like a magic trick.

“Did you not want to show us the full American experience?” Illya, sat next to Gaby, indicated her empty milkshake glass, and his own much smaller, much emptier plate. “Or are all Americans so greedy.”

“Hey now, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, Peril, you can insult me, but to insult my country…”

Illya shared a raised eyebrow with Gaby, who’d gotten used to their skirmishes by now, and usually occupied herself with anything better. Like building sculptures out of sugar cubes. Or ripping napkins into tiny shreds. Anything more intelligent than acting mother for them.

“In addition,” Napoleon said, ever confident, “One must never eat quite so hearty a meal after so much excersise.”

“This is what I told you when we ordered,” Illya said, amused.

Napoleon sighed, posture breaking, sinking into the red leather plush of the diner booth they were occupying. His head swivelled to take in the room, the bodies of all the men they’d killed still bleeding out little puddles onto the diner floor, creating one heck of a safety hazard.

Feeling a second wind, he sat up, reached for an onion ring and stuffed it into his mouth with all the resolution he could muster. Halfway through, he regretted not biting off a more sizeable chunk as he kept chewing and chewing, willing it to go down.

Not that it wasn’t masterfully seasoned and cooked to perfection, he’d made sure of that, but after an entire onion of the things even he was getting tired of the grease, the bite, the salt. He still had a half-rack of ribs left too, and a plate of shrimps, and a quarter of a steak.

Gaby had finished her basket of fries and her damned milkshake before Napoleon could even roll up his sleeves, and he still had more on his plate than Illya had started with.

“I will have salad,” Illya had said as he’d sat himself in the booth, making room for Gaby. At Napoleon’s incredulous look, he had shrugged. “What? I am on diet.”

“You cannot order a salad at an American diner, Peril. A rack of ribs. A plate of fries. A burger. Anything as long as it’s fried in grease and served with sauce.”

“A burger then.” Napoleon had looked so pleased with himself for almost half a second at Illya’s seeming relent. “Without bun. Or meat.”

“So what you’re essentially ordering is-”

“Salad. Yes.”

Napoleon had sent a pleading look at Gaby, who was flicking through the menu. “What is this, it sounds atrocious.”

“It’s a milkshake, but with cookies and ice cream in it.”

“I want it. Two of them. And fries.” She shut her menu and put it back in its metal holder.

Napoleon had pulled the menu back out and sprawled it on the table in front of them, open at the specials page. On it was a drawing of a plate the size of a planet, loaded with the meat from every animal and enough fries to feed a small army. “This, this is what I’m talking about, kids. The Full American Experience.”

“I do not think it wise to eat a meal like this after so much exercise,” Illya said, cautious.

“You just don’t know what’s good for you, do you, Peril. Well. You’ll see.”

They had sat for about seven minutes before Gaby looked up, realising they’d stopped arguing and had lapsed into silence. “The waitresses ran away when we started to shoot, Napoleon.”

“Ah, yes, well spotted, Gaby.”

“We should go back to rendezvous,” Illya said, twitchy. “There is no time to be sitting here. Waverly will want debrief.”

“Or I could cook us all dinner, we could relax for a few and bring Waverly a doggy-bag...”

-

Waverly thinks the steak is perfectly cooked (medium rare, well seasoned,) but that the fries really didn’t survive the transition to cold well.

  


**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f10lwpQ8rwk


End file.
